That is only a confirmation of
something that has been in my mind for a long time--ever since my
wedding-day. I knew when you came into the room upstairs on that
day that you did not trust Charles."
"I--?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, standing squarely in front of him and looking
him in the eyes. "You did not trust him. You were not glad that I
had married him. I could see it in your face. I have never
forgotten."
D'Arragon turned away towards the window. Sebastian and Mathilde
were in the street below, in the shade of the trees, talking with
the eager neighbours.
"You would have stopped it if you could," said Desiree; and he did
not deny it.
"It was some instinct," he said at length. "Some passing
misgiving."
"For Charles?" she asked sharply.
And D'Arragon, looking out of the window, would not answer. She
gave a sudden laugh.
"One cannot compliment you on your politeness," she said. "Was it
for Charles that you had misgivings?"
At last D'Arragon turned on his heel.
"Does it matter?" he asked. "Since I came too late."
"That is true," she said, after a pause. "You came too late; so it
doesn't matter. And the thing is done now, and I . . . , well, I
suppose I must do what others have done before me--I must make the
best of it."
"I will help you," said D'Arragon slowly, almost carefully, "if I
can."
He was still avoiding her eyes, still looking out of the window.
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